


The Key

by pr_squared



Category: Swordspoint Series - Ellen Kushner
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 14:16:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4482425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pr_squared/pseuds/pr_squared
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marcus gives Lady Katherine a most precious gift</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Key

**Author's Note:**

> This tale comes from Ellen Kushner’s At Sword’s Point,”re-imagined” and a little more graphic and explicit.

The Key

I

My hand was on the chess board. He put his hand over it. His skin was warm and a little damp.

“Marcus?” I asked. “Are you sorry you kissed me?”

“Not really. Unless you are.” He looked very tentative. Marcus kept the books for my properties with great thoroughness and care. He rarely looked so uncertain when he discussed my accounts.

“I’m not at all,” I said. “I’d do it again.” His hand tightened on mine, but he didn’t do anything. “It’s men that make you sick, right? Not me.”

“You don’t at all.”

“Just because I dress like one sometimes…If that puts you off – well – I can…“

“Take your clothes off?” His brown eyes now gleamed mischievously.

“Because I’m really not a man. I’ve got – well, developments.” I lack the delicate beauty of my friend Artemisia. My strong body bears the evidence of my years of training for the sword, but I am woman enough.

“I’d noticed.”

“So do you want to?”

“If you do.”

I touched his mouth gently with my free hand. “I do.”

This kissing was very different: more like eating, really, satisfying an appetite you didn’t even know was in you until you found yourself with a big mouthful of pleasure. It was as if the calculating minds that had been playing chess had suddenly flown out through the roof. All I knew was that things felt good and I wanted more of them. I had never even imagined Marcus with his clothes off and now here I was, ripping them away to get at more of his bare skin. I didn’t mind when his hands found my breasts – in fact, I encouraged him, and I pushed his head down so I could feel his face and his mouth on them.

We ended up on the rug because we were too embarrassed to get on the bed, and we rolled around on it and stroked each other and knocked over the chess board (we never could find the black pawn, after) and rolled over each other. I took his sex in my hand. Marcus started groaning and saying, “Katie stop, please stop,” but I didn’t see any reason too. Despite his words, his body seemed to welcome my touch. Suddenly, he clutched me hard and shuddered. He cried out and then went very still. When he started to weep, I held him, and didn’t even mind the mess he’d made all over us.

Who cares about going out?” I whispered into his hair, and he laughed, then, and I tasted his salty tears.

 

II

Over chocolate, I told my friend Artemisia what had happened.

I always envied Artemisia’s refined beauty but she screwed up her nose in unladylike disgust when I got to the messy part but she smiled. “Tell me. What did he feel like?” she asked with eager curiosity. “Did you climax?”

I tried to remember exactly and put it all into words but the sensations and feelings were all a jumble –my lips against his, his lips and tongue on my swollen, aching nipples, the scent of him, the utter otherness of his unfamiliar male body, the throbbing velvety hardness of him, the unwanted dampness between my thighs. “It’s hard to say,” I answered honestly. “The coarse hairs on his ball sac tickled my palm but I liked it.”

“You didn’t climax and you liked his hairy sac?” she asked, puzzled. “The proper whores at high-class Glinly’s are plucked neat and clean,” she responded, “or at least that’s what my cousin Ophelia tells me.”

“I liked everything and my Marcus is no whore.” Artemisia is my dearest friend but I wouldn’t tell her that Marcus cried real tears after he climaxed. She knew nothing of Marcus’ history, of his years of abuse. He had only found safety and security in my Uncle’s house, behind the sturdy oak door of his bedroom for which he held the only key.

 

III

We began just like last time. Marcus and I kissed but much less awkwardly. This time we lay much more comfortably on his narrow bed. His naked body felt good against mine. My breasts pressed against his chest. Our tongues tangled as if each of us couldn’t get enough of the other. Marcus lowered his head to my aching breasts. His mouth teased my stiffening nipples. I was hotly aware of his warm hand resting gently between my thighs.

I knew much better what to do. I ran my hand up his thigh and gently cupped his testicles. His coarse hairs tickled my palm. He sighed aloud. I wondered whether he might be better plucked smooth but only briefly. Boldly, I grasped his sex. I held him an arm’s length away so that I might better see what I was doing and worked him methodically to another messy climax. Sword practice has greatly strengthened my right hand.

Once again, he groaned, then shuddered violently as he erupted. After a pause, he recovered and this time he didn’t cry.

“I want to give you pleasure,” he said hoarsely when he had caught his breath. Softly, he cupped my hungry sex.

“Artemisia says it’s better if you kiss me there,” I said as I disengaged and rolled over to my back. I sat up on my elbows so that I might better see what he was doing.

He kissed again me on the mouth quite fiercely. His eager mouth nuzzled my neck and drifted to my breasts. The back of his hand rested softly on my sex and I shuddered with pleasure. I know he felt my wetness. He kissed me between my breasts and trailed wet kisses down my belly. He lavished kisses on my belly button for an inordinate length of time. He really tickled and I just giggled.

I put my hands on his head to encourage him to move on. He seemed hesitant and confused and I had almost given up hope.

Then he kissed my mound and slid lower. He kissed the insides of my thighs and that was better. Then his fat tongue split my lower lips. The feeling was unbearable but I wanted him never to stop. My hands, strengthened by long hours of sword practice, grasped his hair. My grip on his head had became firmer as I pressed him against me. My hips moved against him. I pulled him strongly to me and his mouth, lips, and tongue danced over my sex. I felt my wetness pour onto his face. Pleasure exploded from my groin and greedily, I wanted more. Never before had I felt anything like this.

After I half-caught my breath, I looked down at him. With my juices dripping from his face, he looked up at me with some sort of wry grin. He seemed more than a bit pleased with himself. “I love you,” he said, his eyes shining with utter sincerity.

“I know,” I answered. I was truly fond of Marcus. He wanted me to kiss him but I could only see the wet evidence of my naked lust dripping from his mouth.

“Do it again,” I pleaded, well beyond shame.

My Marcus was eager to please me and I climaxed again and hard. I felt myself gushing wetly onto his face. I shuddered from the cold wet spot on the linen sheets under my bottom. I climaxed a third time, the muscles of my thighs and buttocks jerking and twitching. After a fourth time, I could stand no more. Dizzy with pleasure, I was hardly able to breathe. Somewhere, I found the strength to push him away.

Gasping for breath, I looked down at him. He looked up at me with some sort of smug grin. My juices dripped from his face. He seemed very pleased with himself. “I love you,” he said once more, his soft eyes shining with utter sincerity.

“And I love you,” I answered hoarsely after I had half-caught my breath. I was truly fond of my Marcus. He really wanted me to kiss him. I kissed his forehead and held him tightly against me.

“I have a gift for you,” he said.

I looked at him carefully. “Your love and friendship are treasure enough,” I answered honestly. I am the Duchess of Tremontane, I thought, and Marcus, my beloved, owns almost nothing.

He handed me the key to his room.

IV

When I next met Artemissia for chocolate, I wore a gold chain with a lovely ruby pendent for all to see. I concealed my greatest treasure beneath my gown, Marcus’ brass key hung warm and cherished between my breasts. Choosing my words carefully, I told her what had transpired. I told her nothing of the key.

At first, she seemed proud of me. “You’re hooked,” she teased. “You’re turning into a real sex fiend. Mothers will see you coming and lock up their sons.” She told me about the stable boy at her cousin Ophelia’s estate last summer. She would not see him again until next summer. At least I had my Marcus at home.

“I think I love him,” I admitted finally

Artemissia sputtered into her chocolate quite indelicately in contrast to her usual gracious manner. “Katie, you’re beyond belief. You think you’re in love! You’re like some benighted character in a comedy of manners," she continued with spilled chocolate sloshing around on her delicately painted saucer.

I looked at my friend, quite puzzled by her reaction.

“An innocent maid, you’ve fallen for the very first one to find your pearl!”

I looked at her confused.

“My lady’s garden has but a single fruit,” she said to no avail. “A fig –plump and sweet.” Frustrated, she saw my continued bewilderment. “You’ve fallen for the first one to find your clitoris.” She shook her head. “There’s only one solution,” she went on. Her country cousin, Ophelia was to visit. Artemisia invited me to accompany them to Ginly’s, as a learning experience only, she explained.

It all sounded too wicked, but I had to agree when she insisted. I am not one to shy away from an adventure.

 

V

Artemisia and I ventured to Ginly’s late at night when her cousin Ophelia next visited. We wore plain clothing but our noble status was readily apparent in the quality of our fabrics and tailoring and our well armed entourage.. We wore masks, supposedly to hide our identities. I carried my well-worn blade and pretty much anyone would know me. As we walked through the quiet streets accompanied by three swordsmen from my household and a boy carrying a torch, my doubts increased. Visions of a less novel evening with chocolate and playing cards grew increasingly attractive. For Ophelia, Artemisia insisted. Ophelia came to the City only twice year.

Mistress Ginly greeted us warmly enough, stubbornly maintaining the fiction that she did not know our identities. She brought out a lines of whores and they were attractive enough, eight males and two females. She did not presume to know our preferences.

Ophelia chose a strapping blonde-hair lad called Tomas. Atremisia took a longer time, but settled on a slighter, dark-hair youth named Sebastian. I simply could not decide. I kept thinking of my Marcus. Finally, Ophelia and Artemisia chose a youth for me, called Laurent after much discussion, some of it quite embarrassing. He seemed nice enough - but nice enough for what, I pondered, as I felt my control slipping in the course of the evening.

Mistress Ginly asked if we wanted separate rooms or if we would share. I was much relieved when Ophelia announced that we would share. Our hostess showed us to a spacious sitting room with three couches surrounding a low table with facing a blazing fireplace. Curtains made a concealed alcove in each of the four corners. Fancy hors d'oeuvres and drink with fine crystal graced the table. A small, richly decorated chest also lay before us. “A toy chest,” Artemisia explained, leaving much unanswered.

We each took our seats, Ophelia on the left, Artemisia in the middle, and me on the right. I wondered what the next step might be.

Artemisia’s Sebastian asked if he might remove her sandals. She nodded, yes and I followed her example. Soon my bare feet luxuriated in Laurent’s strong capable hands.

Ophelia ordered the boys to disrobe. They complied promptly and soon the three stood stark naked before us. Clothed, I was visibly more uncomfortable than they naked, but they were whores after all and were undoubtedly well used to such an exposed state.

Artemisa suggest that they stand for inspection. They clearly understood her instruction for they stood side by side with their arms clasped above their heads. I had never seen so many male bodies blatantly displayed but couldn’t deny my curiosity. Artemisia walked among them laughing. She touched Laurent’s strong smooth chest, Tomas’ muscular buttock, and her Sebastian’s male paraphernalia with unwanted boldness. My Marcus had thick thatches of hair under his arms and at his groin. The whores’ bodies had been shaved or waxed totally smooth exactly as Artemisia had reported.

Artemissia led Sebastian to one of the curtained alcoves. Tomas led Ophelia to a second. I stood at Laurent’s urging and followed him to the third alcove. Though he did have trouble with my sword and scabbard, he helped with the complex fasteners of my cloak and gown with surprising deftness. He hung my garments carefully while I changed into a short white robe over my small clothes, preserving my modesty as best I could and laughing aloud at my sudden reticence. I was in a whorehouse after all, and believe it or not, I had come of my own free will.

I emerged to find my friends similarly garbed. Ophelia sat on her couch with Tomas’ blond head buried deeply between her spread thighs. She made mewing noises and held him tightly against her. Artemisia rummaged through the toy chest while her Sebastian knelt beside her. My swordsman’s eyes detected a flicker of apprehension on his bland, pleasant face. He gleamed in the firelight from a faint sheen of perspiration. My Laurent waited patiently for my instruction, fully confident that I knew exactly what I was to do - as if I really did.

Artemisia drew an artificial phallus from the box and a handful of straps and buckles. She flashed me a wry grin and wordlessly demonstrated how the obscene device fitted into a clever socket. She stood and clumsily donned the harness. When she was done, the bizarre contrivance jutted incongruously out the front of her brief robe. Its masculine aspect contrasted sharply with her otherwise very feminine form. Smiling at the incongruity, she beckoned to her Sebastian.

He looked at me briefly as if seeking succor but knew well his role in this affair. He knelt and accepted Artemisia’s bold assault on his mouth. She grasped his hair and pulled him into her, the base of the faux sex pressing against her own.

Laurent kissed my bare legs. His warm mouth felt good on my skin but I would not be distracted. I pushed him away. I wanted to see what my friend intended.

Artemisia looked down at her boy and up at me. She took a step backwards and pointed to the couch. Her face showed her determination. Once more, Sebastian knew precisely what she wanted.

Sebastian stood. He turned and faced the couch, then bent at the waist, resting his weight on his arms, which were braced against the cushions.

Artemisia looked briefly at me. “Nice bottom.” she said before she returned to the matter at hand. “I’ve always had a weakness for a good bottom.” She poured some oil from a ewer between his butt cheeks and grasped his testicles firmly with one hand and thrust her hips forward strongly.

Sebastian groaned aloud and pulled away, though whether with pain or pleasure I could not determine. Artemisia held him tethered closely by his ball sac. With strength unwanted in someone so slight, she pounded him vigorously. Her bare thighs pressed against his bare buttocks. Sebastian groaned again and went limp as his body yielded to her assault.

I turned and saw that Ophelia now sat astride Tomas’ hips, facing his feet. His thick erect member disappeared under the hem of her disheveled robe. She too watched Artemisia and Sebastian intently. “It’s an acquired taste.” she commented wryly.

“Take’s practice too,” Artemisia retorted breathlessly.

I felt wetness between my thighs and Laurent’s teasing kisses once more. This time, I encouraged him. He was skilled at what he did and my hips moved forward of their own volition to press against him. I felt chagrined by my blatant eagerness. Soon groans and sighs escaped my lips as my body erupted at his relentless ministrations of his wicked mouth and tongue.

Breathless, I grasped his face between my hands. Evidence of my lust dribbled from his mouth and nose. His confident eyes betrayed a certain self-satisfaction, much like my Marcus’. I wondered briefly if Laurent felt the hard-won calluses on my hands. One does not carry a sword without bearing its mark. Gratefully, I kissed his forehead and urged him to his feet.

He stood and his rampant sex loomed in my face. I held him gently and marveled once again at the velvety hardness of him that he shared with Marcus. His cock lacked Marcus’ sleeve of skin covering its tip. I licked it delicately and he tasted cleanly of perfumed soap.

I turned to see Artemisia grinning at me. The device was gone. She now sat astride Sebastian’s hips, facing outward. His fat male sex poked up incongruously between her trim female thighs. She seemed to have lost interest in Ophelia and me. She focused all of her attention of the place where she and Sebastian joined. She stroked him gently with two fingers and pressed him back between her labia. I thought she might lift her bottom and take him within herself as Ophelia had done. She did not. Rather, she rubbed him against herself, making small circles. At first, she looked lost in concentration. Then little sounds of pleasure escaped her lips. Finally, she shuddered visibly and gasped for breath. Her face was all twisted up. I wonder if I looked so ridiculous when I took my pleasure.

Later, Artemisia explained that she had never had taken a boy inside her. One has her first time only once and many roads lead to pleasure. One does well to explore them at her leisure. Cousin Ophelia had been an excellent guide and teacher.

I showed my more worldly friends something too. Laurent lay on the rug and I sat across his belly and held his sex. My bottom was wet against him. I stroked his thighs and ball sac. His hands worked mischief between my thighs but I would not be distracted. My sword-strengthened hands kneaded his sex until he spurted messily.

Later, we luxuriated in the bath. Ophelia and Artemisia had traded boys. Artemisia sat between Sebastian and Laurent on the side of the pool. Ophelia stood between Sebastian’s thighs, her mouth on his rampant sex. Tomas stood in the water. His blonde head was trapped between Artemisia’s thighs. His tongue explored her pert bottom. I rested my head in Laurent’s lap and just watched the proceedings. His strong, gentle hands washed my hair. My breasts floated in the warm, scented water.

Later, walking home, Atemisia described my now practiced handiwork to Ophelia and wrinkled her pert little nose in a show of mock distaste.

VI

The party had been gay but too long. I was tired from the rich food, flirtatious repartee, and lively dancing. Two ensembles played in shifts. Too much wine left a pleasant buzz in my head. I stumbled toward my chamber gracelessly. My head was abuzz with too much drink and too-clever conversation.

 

Lydia, my maid, met me at the door to help me with my gown and elaborate coiffure. I sat on a stool, while Lydia deftly removed my jewelry and placed it in the jewelry box and took the pins form my hair. I rested my hand on my chest and felt the precious key nestled there. Somewhere, I found one last burst of initiative. Mischievously, I dismissed my maid. Lydia kissed me on the cheek and quietly departed.

My hand touched the key that hung between my breasts. Marcus had given me his precious key. One sort of courage sustains me, sword in hand. This was courage or foolhardiness of a different sort. I went to Marcus’ room.

 

I waited a few minutes and then went out into the corridor in my slip. Seeing no one in the dim light, I walked quickly to Marcus’ room. I retrieved the key from under my slip, opened the door, and entered quietly. The key and his love were treasure beyond my many more sparkly jewels. Moonlight streamed in through the window.

Silently, I closed the door and locked it again. In the dim light, I saw Marcus asleep in what passed for a bed in the servants’ quarters. The room was clean but the furnishings were spare. I should see my Marcus had better.

I quickly kicked off my slippers.

I lifted the covers carefully and found Marcus asleep naked under his covers. In only my slip, I slid in next to him. I was so tired. His body felt warm against mine. I cuddled with him comfortably. He slept on, untroubled. Soon I was also asleep.

I awoke in the predawn light. Marcus slumbered on. My arm wrapped around him. My hand rested on his warm belly. Inadvertently, my hand slipped down and brushed his morning erection.

Marcus awoke when I kissed the back of his neck. Suddenly, I feared that I had startled him, that I had taken too great liberties. However, I had faced enemies sword to sword and fear was no stranger. Marcus opened his eyes. Despite my uncertainty, he found ready comfort in my arms and turned toward me. He kissed me fully on the mouth and I kissed him back fiercely.

I rolled on top on him, straddling his hips. I pulled up my slip so that bare thighs rested on bare skin.

Now he was surprised. “I’ve never done this before,” he whispered.

“Neither have I,” I answered. Naked lust fueled my steely determination.

“Shouldn’t I be on top?” he asked.

My Marcus wanted me too. Awkwardly, we rolled together and Marcus was above me. His eyes were soft when we kissed again. He came into me, like a sword returns to his scabbard. I had pain, but I bear a sword and have suffered much worse pain. Pleasure soon replaced the hurt as Marcus moved against me, slowly and gently. All too soon, he gasped and shuddered. “Lords and Ladies,” he sighed and went limp in my arms. I moved against him but he was done. We held each other and marveled at what we had done.

I think that we both slept a time. I awoke, my desire still smoldering. My body hungered for him still like a celebrant at a feast after a first appetizer. Desire had returned to Marcus too. I straddled him again and this time he did not object. I took him smoothly into me. My passage was open and slick, and I moved against him. With my hand, I felt where his thick member split my lower lips. I rested my fingers just above and pressed softly against my pearl. I took my pleasure fully and my Marcus stayed with me. My orgasm was a powerful as his had been. He was still hot and hard inside me. I reached around and underneath and cupped his sac gently. We moved together. Our joined bodies were sticky with perspiration. Marcus groaned and sighed with increasing fervor. I felt his balls jerk in my hand. He came and his climax brought me a second even more breathtaking release.

I asked Lydia to arrange a hot bath. Marcus and I bathed together openly for I am the Duchess of Tremontane and with my title come certain prerogatives. We washed and I explored his male body more fully in the morning light. His hands bore the indelible ink stains from his work on my duchy’s accounts. I climbed up and sat on the side of the tub. He stood in the steaming chest-high water and we sipped our hot chocolates. His finger gently traced the scars of my many encounters with the sword. Each one I remembered vividly and shared its tale. We talked and teased and I just looked at him. I took his cup and placed it along side mine on a table beside the large bath. He came to me. I bent forward and kissed him on the lips. Then he lowered his head and suckled my breasts. My erect nipples answered him and I felt a warm wetness trickling between my thighs. He looked up, smiled, and kissed my lips once more. The kiss was too brief. I was disappointed and hungered for more. Then he trailed kisses down my chest and over my belly and I forgot about the too brief kiss. He slipped between my thighs and pressed his wicked mouth against my sex. I had little ability then to think of anything then.


End file.
